Slowburn
by super em
Summary: A routine investigation quickly becomes anything-but-routine, and Tony is caught in the middle.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: NCIS does not belong to me, nor am I making any profit from this.**

**_A/N: I've been trying my hand writing some romance stuff lately, but I thought it was time to get back to what I really love - Tony-centric gen fics. And if you've read any of my previous multi-chapter stories, you'll know what that means - whumping! I hope you enjoy, there's more to come. Reviews are always appreciated :)_**

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_**_Slow burn: increasing anger; a state of steadily becoming angrier.__**

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**Chapter One**

"Tony, are you okay?" Ziva asked, staring across the room as Tony snuffled into a tissue for the third time in as many minutes.

The snuffle. A hybrid between a cough and a sneeze. Abby's word of course. Like an exaggerated nose-wipe, complete with sound effects. They'd come up with it last winter, spinning around on the chairs in her lab for lack of anything more productive, or interesting for that matter, to do. Tony wanted to call it the 'snough', ingeniously mashing 'cough' and 'sneeze' together, but Abby was of the opinion that it sounded too dirty. Plus, she'd added brightly, snuffle was catchier. Tony knew better than to argue with Abby on anything other than movies. And thus the snuffle was created.

He nodded, rewarding Ziva's concern with a frustrated glare as he wiped at his nose again and tossed the wadded tissue into the bin.

"I'm fine. It's nothing."

Ziva nodded, not at all convinced but not willing to pursue the matter further. At least not while they were on the clock, in the middle of a double-homicide.

It was nothing, Tony told himself. Well, maybe the pounding head and dripping nose was _slightly_ more than something, but not enough that it qualified being labeled as something more than nothing. Yeah. That didn't even make sense in Tony's head. But really, it was practically nothing. Nothing a solid, uninterrupted eight hours of sleep couldn't fix. Unfortunately, he didn't see that happening anytime in the near future. Not until they got the case closed, reports filed, paperwork complete. Just great.

He cursed softly as his nose twitched and he had to reach for a tissue to keep himself from snuffling all over the desk. He'd been caught in the rain halfway through his morning run yesterday. There hadn't been a storm, just a random, icy-cold, ultra-refreshing shower that soaked him for all of the twenty minutes it took him to get home. He was about to jump into a hot shower when he got the call about the murder case, and had to satisfy himself with a sixty-second dunking before high-tailing it to the office.

After that, the case had occupied the rest of his day, no time to even stop for lunch. Nightfall had found him pulling surveillance duty with McGee, staking out an old warehouse the investigations had led them to. Just a typical day at NCIS, but definitely not ideal conditions for staving off a potential cold.

A cold, Tony told himself, letting the latest tissue to fall to his desk and not missing the disgusted look Ziva shot him. A cold, and nothing more. He didn't have time to get sick. They'd close the case and he'd drink some cough syrup and be fine. All he had to do until then was avoid Ducky, who would insist on checking him out properly. No time for that. Usually Abby would be equally irritating in her concern, but she was snowed under with evidence. He saw her once, in the morning, coming back from the stake out and she'd given him a big, warm hug and filled his pockets with herbal teabags of unimaginable combinations, before ruefully returning to Major Mass Spec and the gang.

His phone rang and Tony picked it up quickly, speaking briefly before returning it to the cradle.

"Boss!"

Gibbs, always punctual to a tee, descended the stairs from MTAC and cast his eyes to Tony.

"Warrant just came through."

Gibbs nodded, hurrying to his desk and sliding the clip into his Sig.

"Let's go." He tossed the keys to McGee as the rest of the team rushed to grab their weapons and badges. "Get the sedan and meet us out front."

McGee nodded, practically running to the elevator. The warrant allowed them complete access to the warehouse they'd staked out the previous night. The observation, as well as financial details revealed by the investigation, led them to believe that the warehouse harboured not only their killer, but was also home to a drug-smuggling operation.

Tony shook his head as he filed into the elevator behind Gibbs and Ziva. How quickly things became complicated.

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"Ugh." Tony squeezed his eyes shut as the car hurtled along the bumpy road at breakneck speed. It didn't help. If anything, it made him feel worse. He pried his eyelids open again, forcing himself to stare out the window as the world flew by. Finally the sedan screeched to a halt a few blocks down from the warehouse. Gibbs, it seemed, was not going for the subtle approach. No need to with the warrant anyway.

"You okay Tony?" McGee asked from the backseat, leaning forward as Gibbs got out to get the vests. Ziva bent forward as well, craning her head to take a look at him.

"McGee is right. You look a little green around the frills."

"Gills," Tony muttered, breathing slowly. The car trip had only compounded the already-present nausea, but he knew it'd pass. Gibbs' driving was enough to make anybody sick.

"I'm fine. Let's do this."

He swung the door open, walking quickly to the boot where Gibbs was already standing, strapping on a black vest.

"DiNozzo?" Gibbs stared at Tony as a wave of light-headed-dizziness hit him and he gripped the side of the car to keep upright.

"You drive like a lunatic, you know," Tony said as the sensation faded. "I'm fine."

Gibbs shook his head.

"Like hell," he replied. "DiNozzo, stay here." He turned to Ziva and McGee, now fully vested. "We're going in the front."

"Wait – boss, what?"

Gibbs raised an eyebrow in frustration. "DiNozzo, you can barely stand, let alone fire a weapon. You're not going into a warehouse where there are unknown hostiles and who the hell knows what else. How are you gonna apprehend the suspect – sneeze on him?"

"Boss-" Tony stared after him, open mouthed.

"Stay with the car, DiNozzo." Gibbs ordered, clipping on his comm. and moving toward the building, Ziva and McGee in formation behind him.

"Greattt," Tony drawled, sitting back in the passenger seat and switching on his own comm. so he could at least hear what was going on. "Should've stayed home today, Anthony." Like that'd even been an option. He hadn't been home since yesterday morning, and sickness or no sickness, everybody had to pull their weight during an open investigation. Tony wouldn't take a day off for a cold anyway. Gibbs' driving, on the other hand, was in a league of its own.

He watched his team as they advanced toward the front doors of the warehouse. Usually they'd split up; two agents at the front and rear to make sure nobody would escape. But Gibbs wouldn't send one person by themselves, which called for a different strategy. They'd all enter through the same door, but they'd have to work double-time to clear the building and make sure nobody could slip out the back.

"Clear," he heard Ziva whisper. McGee quickly replied with the same message, and then Gibbs as they moved through the warehouse.

"I've got drugs," McGee said. Tony could hear his rough breathing through the headset.

"Packaged," Ziva reported. "Looks like this place is only used for storage, no production."

"Okay," Gibbs replied, his voice tinny. "Keep moving."

Tony heard a scuffle through the microphone, and the movements of the team as they reacted to the sound.

"He's gone out the back!" Gibbs yelled, his footsteps heavy as he ran after them. An engine started, and Tony saw a white van tear out from behind the warehouse before Gibbs could get a shot.

The van grew larger as it approached Tony's location. He had to do something. Flicking the safety off his Sig, Tony fired at the van. Two bullets hit the windshield, but it didn't shatter. His mind racing, Tony fired again. What was a van doing with bulletproof windows? This was definitely no small-time drug operation. He'd aimed lower, and the bullets went through the front, into the engine of the van. It showed no signs of slowing, getting closer and closer to Tony.

He squinted, wondering what the chances were that he could hit the fuel tank, and if it would blow him up in the explosion. With the bulletproof glass, he had no chance of injuring the driver. Before he could move, the van skidded to a stop in front of him. The door slid open and a man jumped out, semi-automatic aimed at Tony's head.

"Get in," the man ordered, stepping towards Tony.

Tony swung his gun around, pointing it straight at the man. He didn't seem phased, firing a string of bullets on the ground.

"Get in."

"Federal Agent. Put the weapon down."

The man laughed. "I don't think so."

Tony's gun dropped from his hand before he was even aware of the stinging pain in his right arm. He looked down. Blood was already staining his shirt.

"That's better," The man said. He swung the butt of the gun, hitting Tony in the side of the skull, then quickly pulled him into the van.

The last things Tony heard was the sound of the gun as the man shot out two of the tires on the NCIS sedan, and then the screech of the van as it sped away.

Then everything went dark.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks for the reviews everyone! I'm totally overwhelmed with the response, so here's chapter two . Thanks for reading, and happy Australia Day!!!_

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Moving stealthily through the warehouse, Gibbs paused at a doorway, gun raised. He cleared the room, radioing through to Ziva and McGee. There were more rooms in the massive warehouse than they'd expected; they'd all assumed it would be just one wide open space. _NCIS agents don't assume_, Gibbs mentally berated. Had he known, he would've brought more agents along to at least cover the back door. He hated leaving DiNozzo behind. Ziva and McGee were more than competent; he trusted them both with his life, but as well as making up the numbers, Gibbs felt safe with Tony behind him, watching his six.

A flash of shadow caught his eye, quickly followed by the scuffle of footsteps. Gibbs took up chase immediately, running lightly into the next room. Several piles of money were on a table in the middle of the room, obviously disturbed.

"He's going out the back!" Gibbs yelled through the radio, running harder in the direction of the person. He moved through the labyrinth of rooms, following the sound of pounding footsteps. He heard tyres squeal, finally finding the back entrance in time to see the tail end of a white van disappearing around the corner.

"Damn it! They're getting away!" Gibbs yelled, chasing after the van. He could see the car far off in the distance, a dark figure that was DiNozzo firing at the approaching van.

"Attaboy Tony," Gibbs murmured, squinting through the sunlight. He could hear McGee and Ziva running behind him, and he regretted parking so far away. The van skidded to a halt and Gibbs watched as a man climbed out. In a matter of seconds, Tony was down and the man was dragging him into the van.

"Dammit!" Gibbs aimed low, trying to blow out the tyres. Any higher and he risked hitting Tony in the back of the van.

"He got Tony," McGee whispered breathlessly as they caught up to Gibbs outside the sedan. Both tyres on the left-hand side of the car had been shot out by the gunman.

"Get the licence?" Ziva asked.

Gibbs glared at her, flipping open his phone in response and putting out a BOLO on the van.

"What do we do now?" McGee exchanged a glance with Ziva.

"Get DiNozzo back," Gibbs muttered, staring at the drops of blood staining the dirt.

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Tony grunted as his mind drifted back into consciousness. He kept his eyes closed, trying to evaluate the situation without letting his captors know he was awake. He was sitting upright, his feet flat on the floor and his hands pulled behind his back. There was a plastic zip-tie tight around his wrists. His arm throbbed a little, but it was more of a burning sensation than a nauseating ache. From what he could tell, it was only bleeding sluggishly. Just a flesh wound. At worst a through-and-through. Give him a bandage and some antibiotics and he'd be right as rain.

Right as rain.

A dumb saying, he thought. What was so right about the rain? Could you be wrong as rain? He shook his head softly, quickly making a mental note to avoid doing that again. His head was pulsing, but that wasn't anything new. He'd had a headache before, this one was just a little more intense. Tony forced his eyes open a crack, relieved that his vision wasn't blurred. He could rule out a concussion, for the moment at least.

Some sort of gag had been shoved in his mouth, and a rag covered half his face to ensure he couldn't talk. It tasted foul and bitter, and Tony had to suppress the urge to throw up. With a gag firmly in place, that could only end badly. Sneezing, on the other hand, was out of his control. The rag tickled his nose, and before he could stop it, he sneezed, his whole body jerking forward. Ewwww… now that was disgusting. He could only imagine what Kate would've thought.

Wrinkling his nose at the wetness now pressing down on his face, Tony opened his eyes again, looking around the room. It was pointless to pretend he was still out of it now.

It was a pretty ordinary drywall room, walls painted white, scuffed timber floorboards. One window to the right, but it was bolted shut, thick black curtains hanging half-drawn.

"I see you're awake," a voice from behind him said.

Tony twisted, trying to get a look at his captor. Hands around his neck held his head firmly in place, so he had to satisfy himself by analyzing the voice, trying to get an idea of who he was dealing with.

"I hope you know we're serious now. Next time I tell you to do something, you do it. No second chances, no asking nicely. Just me and you with a bullet in your skull."

Definitely male, no obvious accent, Tony thought as the man spoke. American, and there was something definitively military about the way he spoke, something Tony recognized in Gibbs as well. Based on the bulletproof van and the machine gun, he guessed the man was part of a militia group.

The man was evidently expecting a reply from Tony, and when he didn't get one, he cuffed Tony around the back of the head. The action reminded him of Gibbs, except a lot more painful. He grunted in reply, but thanks to the gag, the grunt quickly turned into a cough.

All too quickly, Tony became aware of how difficult it was to breathe with a blocked nose and a gag in place. He choked and gasped for several tortuous seconds until the man finally took pity on him, ripping off the towel around his face. Tony spat out the gag, filling his lungs with sweet, fresh air. Not being able to breathe… it brought back unpleasant memories of his battle with Y-pestis. Definitely not an experience he'd like to relive.

"What do you want with me?" He rasped finally. The man strolled around, finally coming into view. He was dressed in black, a balaclava covering his head.

"A bit dramatic, don't ya think?" Tony cocked an eyebrow. "I thought you were a homicidal drug dealer, not a bank robber."

A sharp kick to the kneecap effectively shut Tony up. The man glowered at him, hands tucked in his pockets.

"I thought we already discussed the importance of obedience, Special Agent DiNozzo." The man's voice was calm, but Tony could see the flicker of annoyance in his eyes. The man knew his name, which meant he had Tony's badge. They must've searched him. He wondered if they'd found the knife concealed in his belt buckle. Tied up, he couldn't tell and he didn't want to attract any attention glancing down to see if it was still there.

"Mind telling me why I'm here?"

The man pulled a chair from the side of the room and straddled it, facing Tony.

"Simple. Your little visit was somewhat… unexpected. We had to leave some very important things behind –"

"Drugs." Tony interrupted. The man glared at him.

"We had to leave some important things behind, and we want them back. You're the collateral."

"Wait, wait." Tony bit back on the urge to laugh. "You want to trade me for your stash? Seriously? I thought you were stupid for kidnapping me in the first place – you've obviously never met my boss – but this takes idiocy to a whole new level. The US Government doesn't negotiate with terrorists, murderers, drug dealers et cetera, period."

"Not even when the life of a federal agent hangs in the balance?" The man smirked.

Tony shook his head, remembering again why it was a bad idea. He bit his lip, determined not to show any weakness in front of the man.

"Nope. My boss'd rather just come and kick your ass. Saves on the paperwork."

The man shoved the chair back, pulling Tony's ID out of his pocket. He flicked it open, examining the NCIS crest.

"Tell me, Anthony DiNozzo, what brought NCIS to the docks this afternoon?"

"Remember Blackston and Leibowitz? The two Marines you killed?"

The man chuckled. "I'm not a killer. Although, I must admit, you tempt me."

"Well, one of your cronies killed them. You might want to get a headstart and start shutting down this little drug ring you have. NCIS will gladly do it for you, if you like."

"Not necessary." The leather snapped as the man flipped the ID badge shut.

"Must be hot in that mask," Tony commented, smiling up at the man. He scowled.

"And there I was, thinking you wanted to live. Do you really think I'd be stupid enough to let you see my face and then leave?"

"Nah. I just wanted to see your face so I know what you look like before I kill you."

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McGee was tasked with the considerably mammoth task of consoling Abby and getting her back to work on the mountain of evidence they'd gathered from the warehouse. Gibbs had been forced to break the news of Tony's kidnapping to her over the phone; they'd been joined by another team to help with the forensic analysis of the warehouse. As well as significant quantities of packaged drugs and almost $200 000 in unmarked, random bills, they'd found six semi-automatics as well as several handguns. No serial numbers of course; it was never that easy. However, there was always the chance that one of the bad guys had left a print on one of the weapons or even on the bullets. Combined with the cash and drugs, all of it equaled a helluva lot of evidence for Abby to go over.

Armed with two industrial-sized Caf-Pows, McGee ventured into the lab. The lights were off and the room was eerily quiet without the usual brain-exploding music.

"Abs?"

He thought he could hear a muffled sniff, so he walked into the connecting room. He found her crouched underneath her desk, eyeliner and mascara streaked down her cheeks.

"C'mon." Extending an arm, McGee pulled her up off the group. In one fluid motion, she went from a huddle on the ground into a full-body hug. His airway was uncomfortably constricted as she burrowed her head into his shoulder, and he rubbed her back with his hand.

"We'll get him back Abs, you know we will."

She pulled back slightly, looking at him with teary eyes. "Why Tony? Why does this always happen to him? I mean, he's such a nice guy and crappy stuff always happens to him and he's always getting kidnapped. And he was sick and I didn't have time to take care of him and I only got to hug him once and I don't think he liked the tea I gave him–"

McGee silenced her, pressing a finger to her lips.

"We'll get him back. This is Tony we're talking about – do you think Gibbs is gonna rest until we find him?"

Abby shook her head slowly.

"C'mon, we can't do it without you. Just think, before you know it, he'll be back here annoying you and pressing the wrong buttons on your machines and calling me Probie and bugging Gibbs and throwing things at Ziva…"

Realizing he had started rambling like Abby, McGee stopped. But it was enough to elicit a giggle from Abby, and in a few seconds she was back to her normal self, wiping away the mascara with a tissue and walking towards the massive pile of evidence that had been delivered to her lab.

McGee followed, grabbing the equipment needed to start lifting prints. As they started on the weapons, Abby looked to McGee, a wicked smile gracing her face for the first time that day.

"When we get Tony back, I don't care how much he complains. I'm gonna implant a GPS tracker in the back of his neck so he never gets lost again."


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed. You guys are great! _

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Tony stared around the small room. He couldn't see his watch; his hands were pulled too tightly behind his back, but he figured he'd been awake for about two hours. Before that – well, if the blood he could feel dripping down his arm was any indication; it seemed to be flowing at a fairly steady rate, he guessed he was unconscious for no more than an hour. That meant they hadn't taken him too far from the warehouse, which had been a forty minute drive from the Navy Yard.

He tried to make sense of it inside his cotton-wool head. Gibbs and the team had obviously stormed in on one of the storage locations of a drug ring. He suspected his captor was part of a militia group, but it wasn't uncommon for them to have a drug operation on the side to supplement the group's income. It seemed there had only been two people inside the warehouse at the time, the driver and the man who shot him. They'd been forced to leave significant quantities of drugs, and most likely cash behind, and they wanted it back.

What confused him was why they left. Sure, they'd been outnumbered, but it was only 3 against 2. Plus they were in possession of at least one semi-automatic. No matter how good a shot Gibbs, Ziva or McGee were, the simple fact of the matter was that in a gunfight, they'd run out of bullets first.

He looked up, hearing footsteps as the man returned, sliding the bolt on the door behind him.

"Where's Jacob?" He asked as soon as the man entered the room.

The man, still clad in a balaclava, seemed momentarily put off, but he quickly recovered, strolling casually around to face him.

"What are you talking about?"

"Jacob Hortz." It was the name Tony had been racking his brains trying to remember, the name of the suspect they'd been searching for evidence against when they raided the warehouse. The man who they were almost certain was responsible for the double homicide case. Tony would've thought of it earlier, only he was more occupied with the gag restricting his flow of oxygen. He thought hard, trying to remember everything McGee had reported to Gibbs from the background check. He was too busy sneezing to pay much attention at the time, but a few things came back to him. Jacob Hortz. Aged 35, Caucasian, 5'10". Did time for some offence, but he couldn't remember what it was.

It wasn't much information, but it was enough to give him a little hope. He could rule out the man standing in front of him as the violent killer who'd literally ripped out the throats of the two Marines after shooting them point-blank. His captor was tall, at least 6'2" and if Tony could guess, based on they eyes, he'd put him in his late 30's.

Which made it very likely that the other man, the driver of the van had been Jacob.

His captor frowned. Tony decided to give him a name. Henry seemed appropriate.

"So, are you gonna do this trade or what? Let me get home in time for dinner, and then there was this movie marathon I was hoping to catch. Sean Connery, one of my favourite actors of all time. Without a doubt the best Bond, I think it has something to do with the accent –"

His monologue was cut short by a backhand from the increasingly frustrated Henry. Tony smirked, licking at his split lip. He'd learnt the fine art of rambling from Abby and Ducky. He found it was a useful technique to see how far he could push the boundaries, test the limits. With Gibbs, the limits were tight. He'd barely get a sentence out before the inevitable hand landed on the back of his head. Henry seemed a little more patient, although 99.9 percent of the population could be considered more patient than Gibbs. But it was worth the split lip. Henry was willing to tolerate a moderate amount of rambling, which told Tony that he had rules, but was willing to bend them.

Eat your heart out Kate. He could profile too.

"I hope you programmed your VCR then. You're gonna miss your precious movie." Henry replied. He seemed to get some sort of pleasure from it. Tony raised an eyebrow. Hadn't the guy ever heard of TiVo?

His nose twitched again, but with his hands tied behind his back, Tony was helpless. He sneezed, loudly and messily. Henry stepped back, nose wrinkled in disgust.

Tony smiled up at him. "Don't suppose you've got a tissue?"

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"Anything?" Gibbs asked, finishing off his fifth coffee of the afternoon.

"Not yet," McGee reported through the speaker-phone. He was still down in Abby's lab, using traffic cams to try and track the movement of the white van. "I found them passing through one intersection, traveling west, eight minutes after they took Tony, but after that, it's like they disappeared. I'd say they've been taking the back roads."

Gibbs hung up without a word, turning his attention to Ziva.

"Any hits on the BOLO?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. I think it is more than likely that they have stopped moving or changed vehicles. Gibbs – I do not think he is dead."

Gibbs frowned at her, then raised one eyebrow.

"They are professionals," Ziva explained. Gibbs nodded. He'd been slightly closer to the attack than Ziva, but her eyesight was sharper. It was likely that she'd gotten a better look at what was going on. "It wasn't a kill shot. If it was, they would have left Tony behind. No point in carrying dead weight."

Gibbs cringed at the expression.

"They shot to wound, to disarm Tony before he could shoot them. The injury may be serious, but I doubt life-threatening." Ziva continued. "But why did they take him in the first place?"

"Bargaining chip," Gibbs replied, sitting down at his desk. "They left a motherload of drugs behind, and they want them back. Ziva, start looking at local groups and possible cells with drug connections. We found too many weapons for this to be just a drug-ring. Start with Jacob Hortz. The bastards will contact us, but not if we find them first."

Ziva nodded, fingers already moving across the keyboard.

"Gibbs," she paused, looking across at her boss. "We will get him back."

Gibbs stared at her. "Not if you don't start working."

He stood up and headed for the elevator. He needed more coffee. A voice stopped him.

"Special Agent Gibbs."

Damn. The Director, on the landing of the staircase. Gibbs wondered if the elevator would arrive in the split-second before he'd have to turn around and face her. No such luck. With a sigh, he turned around and began the walk to her office. He needed his own private elevator. And he really needed more coffee.

"An update, Jethro," Jenny said, closing the door to the office and taking a seat at the table.

"Nothing so far. Abby's still working the evidence, McGee's trying to track the van and Ziva's digging into militia groups."

"You think Tony was taken by a militia group?"

"Yes," Gibbs answered succinctly, not feeling like explaining everything. She could read it all in the case reports, once it was all over.

"God, Jethro, how did this go wrong so quickly?" Jenny stood up, shoving her chair in and leaning on it. "IA's going to be all over you if…"

"If what?" Gibbs snapped as she trailed off. "If we don't get Tony back? Not going to happen."

"How can you be so sure, Gibbs? You still have no idea where they went, what they want or what they're doing to Agent DiNozzo right now. For that matter, how did they get to Tony? Who was his backup?"

Gibbs sighed, running a hand through his hair before looking back up at the Director.

"Nobody."

"Nobody?! Gibbs-"

"He wasn't feeling well, Jenny. I only realized once we got to the warehouse-"

"You only just realized? Gibbs, he's been sneezing enough to shake the building to the foundations for the past two days. He's your senior field agent, he sits across from you! How can you not notice when he's sick? I would think that should rate higher on your list of priorities, especially with Tony's history of respiratory illness."

"Stop interrupting," Gibbs replied harshly, standing up and resting his hands on his belt. "You want to know what happened, this is what happened. Tony was sick. I told him to stay at the car. Bad guys slipped out the back, Tony tried to stop them, they shot him and dragged him away. Probably because they want their drugs and money back. That's it."

"God, Gibbs. You couldn't have just waited, called for backup?"

"I … " Gibbs stopped, shook his head and stalked out of the office. He stormed down the staircase, sitting heavily in his desk chair.

"Gibbs…?" McGee, back from Abby's lab, stood up and walked around to the front of his desk cautiously. The whole floor had heard the tail end of Gibbs' conversation with the director; they'd certainly been shouting loudly enough.

"What?" Gibbs snapped, glaring at McGee icily.

"It wasn't your fault. We checked the floor plans of the warehouse, it was just one room. We weren't expecting it to be subdivided. We spent all night watching the warehouse and saw nobody come or leave. We definitely weren't expecting anybody to be inside."

"He is right," Ziva joined in. "We were looking for more evidence for the case. What did Tony say… robbing the chest while the mother bird was out."

"Nest," McGee hissed at her. She nodded.

"Nest, yes. On the information we had at the time, there was no need for backup."

"Then we should've had better information," Gibbs said, standing up. "I'm going for coffee."


	4. Chapter 4

_Thank-you for your continued viewing! And especially to the wonderful reviewers :)_

_A/N: Probably should add that I don't own James Bond. Shocking, I know._

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After Tony sneezed all over himself, Henry's lip curled in distaste and he spun on his foot, hurrying out of the room before he breathed in any of Tony's germs. The door was slammed and bolted behind him.

"Say hi to Jacob for me!" Tony called after him cheerily.

Left to his own devices, Tony figured that the best thing to do was sleep. It seemed quite obvious that the proposed trade would not be taking place in the foreseeable future. Tony's body was screaming out for sleep; he'd been on the stake out for most of the previous night, and the night prior to that had been spent with a beautiful (and flexible) woman, before he'd gotten up early to go running. But despite his weariness, even with the added strain of his injuries and the cold, sleep didn't come easily.

His position probably didn't help, Tony thought, tapping his feet on the floorboards. Strapped down to the chair, arms pulled awkwardly behind him, it was impossible to get comfortable on the hard wooden chair. His arm still throbbed annoyingly and his head ached with every movement.

He decided that, since he couldn't get to sleep, he would re-enact the movie marathon he would otherwise be watching. Tied down, he couldn't act out "Goldfinger" as enthusiastically as he would've liked to, but he thought the Connery impersonation wasn't half bad.

Henry seemed to disagree. He was only halfway through the scene in the hotel suite when the door swung open and Henry strode in.

"Shut the hell up, pig!"

"My dear girl, there are some things that just aren't done! Such as drinking Dom Perignon '53 above a temperature of 38 degrees Fahrenheit! That's as bad as listening to the Beatles without earmuffs!" Tony replied, blinking innocently at his captor.

Henry growled, quickly disappearing from the room before returning with a pitcher of water, which he proceeded to empty over Tony.

"No more warnings. Shut up or I'll stitch your mouth shut."

The door slammed again and Tony heard the bolt shift.

"Shocking. Positively shocking," he drawled, grinning at himself. Not a bad effort; he'd not only pissed Henry off quite impressively, he'd also gotten himself a drink of water. The only downside was that he was now soaking wet.

Still bored and restless, Tony started tapping a beat with his feet. Definitely entertaining, to him at least, and it didn't require nearly as much concentration as reciting 007.

It wasn't until much, much later that Tony, still awake, looked down and realized his feet were still tapping on the ground. He tried to make them stop, but he couldn't. His legs were trembling uncontrollably.

Tony frowned. That wasn't good. It meant one of two things. It could be because he was cold; his clothes were still damp. But he didn't feel cold - if anything he felt hot, like he needed to rip all of his clothes off and immerse himself in cool water. Which indicated that it was the second thing - he had a fever.

The fever could be explained in two ways. His GS wound was untreated, apart from the shower of water it hadn't been cleaned or anything. It could easily be infected.

Or he had the flu. Just to add to the growing list of problems.

Tony wondered what would happen if he threw up on Henry.

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Gibbs stepped out of elevator and winced. A piercing squeal cut through the air, and he ran into the lab to make sure Abby was okay.

"Abby?" Gibbs touched her on the shoulder, spinning her around on her chair. "What's wrong?"

"Gibbs!" She beamed. "That's so awesome, you know I was just about to call you. Seriously, my finger was right on the button!"

"Okay, Abs. Why the screaming? What's up?"

"Where do I begin, my silver-haired fox?" She spun around once more on the chair for effect, then pushed herself back to the keyboard. "So you know how you had McGee and I go over the weapons, check for prints, trace, yadda yadda yadda…"

"Yes," Gibbs nodded, quirking an eyebrow.

"Well I got something!"

"Well yeah, I kind of got that Abs. What is it?"

She grinned, pulling up an image of a bullet on the plasma screen. "So this is one of the bullets I pulled from the tyres of your car." She pulled up similar picture next to the first one.

"And this is a bullet fired from one of the semi's you guys got in the warehouse. Obviously they're not the same, you don't need a degree to figure that out since they kept their weapon with them after they took Tony and you'd have to be pretty dumb to go back to the warehouse after kidnapping a federal agent. Especially one that works for you –"

"Abby!"

She pouted at him.

"They're from the same weapon. Not the same, the same, but the same make and model. But - that's not the best part. The bullets from the tyre are a match to the bullets from our two Marines in the morgue!"

Gibbs nodded. "Can you find who the gun is registered to from the bullet?

"No. I mean you can, but I can't. At this moment." Gibbs opened his mouth to speak, but Abby jumped in before he could. "The gun isn't registered or listed in any databases. I double-checked."

"Okay. What else?"

"Well, the guns were all really clean. I mean, like, really really clean. NCIS agent-clean. I guess that by itself isn't all that unusual, but when there are so many of them, you'd expect at least a smudge or something. Even the bullets were clean."

"Any fired recently?"

"Doesn't look like it. But they'd probably carry the weapons they used regularly, right? Maybe these were spares. Gibbs, these weapons just reek of –"

"The military." Gibbs finished for her.

"Yep."

"Cleaned to precision, wiped free of prints. We didn't get any prints from the warehouse, for that matter." Gibbs frowned. "My gut says that whoever took Tony is ex-military."

"We know Jacob Hortz was dishonorable discharged eight years ago," Abby put his file up on the television screen.

"I'll have McGee check out his old army buddies," Gibbs thought out loud. "The bullets Ducky pulled from the two Marines – any matches to any other crimes in the database?"

Abby shook her head, pigtails flailing. "Still going, but nothing yet. If I get a hit, I'll scream really loudly again so you know."

"Thanks Abs. That's good work." He dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

"Go find Tony!" Abby called back, pumping her fist in the air as she leaned into the microscope. Gibbs smiled, walking out.

-----------------------------

"Talk to me about the milita groups, Ziva," Gibbs ordered, walking back into the squad room, two cups of coffee in hand. A third cup had been consumed on the walk back from the coffee shop, but he wasn't going to chance running out again.

The floor was almost empty and the sky outside was black; the only light coming from the desk lamps.

"I spoke to several of my contacts, Gibbs," Ziva reported. "They do not have much information, but they did speak of a group based just outside of DC who are active in the drug trade."

"Got a name?"

Ziva glanced up, brown eyes meeting steel-blue. "No."

"No?"

"Not yet," she sighed, picking up her phone again.

Gibbs set his sights on McGee. "McGee, report."

"Still nothing on the BOLO. I've programmed a search module to scan through the traffic cam footage, looking for a vehicle that matches our description. But it's just started, and it's going to take me a while to sort through the results. Large, white vans aren't exactly unusual around here."

Gibbs grunted, and McGee quickly continued.

"Ah- I've been digging into Jacob Hortz's records a little more. I thought I would find who out he was stationed with before he was discharged, see who his friends were."

Gibbs stared at the junior agent, wondering if Abby had called up to tell him to do that; give him a head start to get into Gibbs' good books. McGee stared right back, unblinking and Gibbs' lip twitched as he realized that he didn't give a damn.

Results were results. And results were the only way they were going to get DiNozzo back.


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks for the reviews! A bit more whumping in this chapter (shocking, I know!). Hope you enjoy :)_

---------------------------

Footsteps on the floorboards woke Tony. They approached the door and he listened to the scratch of metal as the bolt slid back. Something was different. The footsteps were lighter, quicker. A different person was entering the room.

As the door was opened, and then closed, Tony twisted his head, trying to get a look at the newcomer. Definitely not Henry; this man was shorter and lean in comparison to the towering bulk of Henry.

"Jacob," Tony guessed with a bright smile.

Even through the black balaclava, he could see the man glower. Yep, that was Jacob for sure.

"So – you got this whole trade thing organized yet? I tried to tell the other guy that it wouldn't work; there's no way my boss is going to swap you millions of dollars to get me back. Hell, even I wouldn't do that. Imagine how many cups of coffee that would buy…"

"Change of plans," Jacob sneered.

"You're going to let me go then? That'd be great, I could really use a shower and some food, and some aspirin would be nice too. Something about having a bullet lodged in my arm, it kinda hurts, you know?"

Jacob stepped closer, leveling his face with Tony's.

"Let's get one thing straight, funny guy. You're not funny. And there's no chance in hell that we're going to let you go."

Tony gulped. "That's two things."

Jacob laughed, walking toward the door. "So it is."

He pulled the door open. "Let's do this."

"Do what?" Tony asked as Henry and Jacob walked back into the room. He shifted as much as the restraints would allow his as he saw what Henry was holding. A camera.

"Say cheese," Jacob whispered before slamming his fist into Tony's jaw. His head reeled back as his vision blurred, the world tilting. He heard a flash, then a chuckle. Tony squeezed his eyes shut, riding out the pain washing over head like a wave. Finally, breathing deeply as the throbbing in his jaw faded to a slightly more tolerable level, he opened his eyes. Jacob and Henry were still there, examining the picture on the display of the digital camera.

"What's that for?" He asked, voice raspy.

"Just a present for your friends at N-C-I-S," Henry replied, dragging out the letters of the acronym. "Let them know we're serious, and that they're never getting you back."

Tony snorted, wondering who had been stupid enough to put these two men in charge of a drug operation. Sending Gibbs a picture of him, bleeding and beaten, would do nothing but strengthen his resolve to get Tony back. If they wanted to hurt Gibbs, and Abby and the rest of the team, letting them know that he was still alive was not the way to do it. Heck, even killing Tony wouldn't get Gibbs off the case. The man was a bloodhound; unstoppable and relentless until the case was closed. Of course, Tony really didn't want to put that idea into the heads of his captors… but he had to know.

"Are you going to kill me?" He blurted out.

Henry and Jacob exchanged a look with each other.

"No."

"You're never going to see the drugs or the money again. I bet your boss isn't too pleased with that. But why me?" Tony closed his eyes, unable to keep the anger, or the desperation out of his voice. He was tired, hungry, cold, his head and arm were killing him and he was more than ready to call it a day and go home. No such luck.

Henry sat down while Jacob lounged against the wall.

"You're right," Jacob said with a smirk. "The higher-ups weren't too pleased about your Feds taking the load. But we lucked out. No need to get it back when we can do so much better, Special Agent DiNozzo."

He pulled Tony's badge out of his pocket, tapping it against his chin.

"Turns out we have a mutual acquaintance."

"Who?" Tony opened one eye to look at Jacob.

"Anthony DiNozzo Senior. Or, as you probably better know him, Daddy Dearest."

Tony pulled himself upright enough to glare across at Jacob and Henry.

"My father may be a lot of things, but a terrorist isn't one of them. He'd never get involved with scum like you. He's a good man."

"You seem awfully sure of yourself," Henry observed, shoving the chair back and advancing toward Tony. "Lucky for us, we don't give a damn if you believe us or not. Now tell me, what's your email address?"

"Fuck off."

Tony barely had time to draw in a breath before the fist hit him again and the world turned upside-down.

----------------------------------

"Ziva!" Gibbs shouted, lifting his head from the desk and glaring at his team. McGee had been snoring softly, face planted into the computer keyboard. At Gibbs' voice, he jerked upright, scattering pens and a (thankfully empty) coffee mug across the desk. Ziva, to her credit, stopped herself before she fell off her chair, picking up a piece of paper and standing up.

"I have had confirmation from several sources about a particular group and their involvement in the drug trade," she reported, all business, her more-than-slightly askew hair the only indicator that she'd been fast asleep less than thirty seconds ago.

"Name."

"They call themselves the 'New Americans," Ziva wrinkled her nose.

"Creative," Gibbs muttered dryly. "What else?"

"Nothing on their location so far. But drugs are the understomach, they use the money to fund other… activities."

"Underbelly," McGee corrected softly, clearing his throat when Gibbs gave him a withering look. He picked up the remote and pressed a button, aiming it at the television and pulling up the website he'd just found.

"They always have a website," Gibbs said, frowning at the screen.

"New Americans stand for justice for the white citizens of America," McGee read, scanning over the homepage of the group. "Well, they're definitely white supremacists. Red-necks, probably seventh-generation Americans or something. They're opposed to immigration, immigrants, even America's alliances with other white nations. Although the name kind of contradicts what they stand for. They probably want to reintroduce slavery and take away the rights of African-Americans while they're at it-"

"McGee!" Gibbs shouted at the junior agent. If he'd been closer, Gibbs would have slapped him, but it was too much effort to cross the room. He forgot how much McGee channeled Tony when his senior field agent wasn't there.

"Right boss," McGee said quickly, his ears turning slightly pink. "Ah… looks like there's a chatroom, but it's multiple-password protected."

"Hack it." Gibbs ordered immediately. "Ziva, I want to know more about the New Americans' other 'activities'. Find out who else is involved with the drugs. There's no way a bunch of army drop-outs are doing this on their own."

The phone on his desk rang and he picked it up.

"Gibbs……. Abby, what's wrong?...I'll be right down."

Dropping the hand piece, Gibbs ran towards the elevator, jamming the down button. Ziva and McGee were right behind him. As the elevator doors opened on the level of the labs, they could see Abby standing up, facing the computer screen.

"Abs…" Gibbs was next to her in a second and she turned into him, tears streaming down her face. Ziva, unused to seeing the Goth crying, stayed where she was. McGee stepped around them and went to the computer Abby had been using. The window was minimized, but as he pulled it up, he saw that she'd been checking her personal emails. He clicked on the most recent one. It was from Tony's private account. There was no text, just an attachment. Warily, he opened it.

Ziva gasped as the image loaded on the plasma screen. A man, half-naked, was tied down to a chair in the middle of a room. He was almost unrecognizable for all of the blood and dirt caking his skin. Abby lifted her head from Gibbs's shoulder, but the sight of the photo was enough to set her off again. Gibbs grabbed her and McGee slid a chair under her before she could collapse.

Choked with sobs, she could only utter two words.

"It's Tony."


	6. Chapter 6

Tony hadn't wanted to give them his email address; even conceding such a small thing felt like he was giving up and letting them win. He'd already gotten himself kidnapped, he didn't want Gibbs to think he was weak on top of that. But as the punches landed, assaulting his head and torso, he forced himself to think reasonably.

They weren't asking for his work email address; by giving them that, they could potentially access restricted files, depending on their knowledge of computers. Abby was always checking her email account, so he knew that even if she was at home, they'd still find the photo Jacob and Henry were planning to send. The selling point, though, was that it would let Gibbs and the team know that he was still alive. The 'change of plans' Jacob mentioned left him with a bitter feeling that they weren't planning on having any further contact with the Feds, they were willing to forget about the drugs and money seized. What any of it had to do with his father was truly beyond Tony and his fuzzy head, but he knew it couldn't be good.

So he told them what his email address was and his password, and in a matter of minutes Henry had brought a laptop into the room, slid the SD card from the camera into the slot and sent the photo off into the depths of the internet. Tony knew little more about computers than Gibbs, but he hoped McGee and Abby would be able to trace it, then Gibbs could come and kick Jacob and Henry's asses.

-----------------------------

"What are you waiting for?" Gibbs asked tersely, barely giving himself a moment to recover from the sight of Tony's bruised and battered body on the screen in Abby's lab.

"On it, Boss." McGee said, sitting down on the stool and typing fervently. "Tony's email address is a Yahoo account, so it should be pretty easy to get past the privacy and security barricades, then we can trace it back to the IP address."

"How long?" Gibbs had no idea what McGee just said, but McGee had sounded pretty hopeful about it.

"Ah… thirty minutes at least, sorry Boss." McGee flashed him an apologetic look over the shoulder before returning his attention to the computer.

"Make it twenty." Gibbs pried himself away from Abby's vice-like grip, pushing her and her chair towards the computer. "Abs, Tony needs your help."

She nodded, straightening up her pigtails. "Move over McGee, let the pro get to work."

McGee grinned, willingly making space as she began hitting the keys even faster than he had been.

"Gibbs, if you want results, you're gonna have to leave us alone for a bit," Abby called back, all business. "And I need a Caff-Pow or three."

--------------------------------

Anthony DiNozzo walked into his office to begin what for all purposes and intents looked to be a supremely ordinary day. He'd arrived early, managing to avoid the morning traffic. His assistant, Denise, had a cup of coffee (one sugar, black), waiting on his desk next to a Danish and a piece of paper outlining his schedule for the day. A meeting with the partners at 9:00, an early lunch with a prospective client at 11:30, video conference at 2:00pm.

With more than an hour before his first appointment, Anthony DiNozzo closed himself in his office and decided to take the opportunity to get his personal affairs in order. Waiting for the computer to turn itself on, he opened the paper, turning to the stockmarket and business pages. Once that was done, he opened his inbox and started scrolling through the dozen-odd emails that had accumulated overnight. Most of them were work-related; business briefings, memos and the like. One was from his wife Annalessa, a list of potential holiday destinations. He smiled at that one, then buzzed Denise into the office and asked her to organize a bouquet of roses to be delivered to Annaleesa while she was at the spa.

Husbandly duties taken care of for the moment, he continued clicking through the emails. One caught his eye. His first thought was to delete it, dismiss it as spam. The email address:

very special agent at yahoo . com

definately didn't belong in his address book. It was only the subject line; AN IMPORTANT MESSAGE FOR ANTHONY DINOZZO that convinced him to open it.

He frowned immediately. According to the email, the name of the sender was 'Big D'. He wondered how this person had accessed his personal email address. It was only given out to associates and family. All other correspondence went through Denise first.

There was an attachement, and a paragraph of text.

_We have something of yours. If you want it back, it will cost you. Five million dollars in unmarked bills. We know you can pay it, and we know you have immediate access to the money. If you are foolish enough to contact the police, not only will we kill him, we will bring you down too. We know things about you. We'll be in touch very soon._

Anthony DiNozzo fought back the wave of nausea that had come over him while reading the message. Clenching his teeth in nervous anticipation, he clicked on the attachment. It was a photo. As the computer downloaded it and ran the virus-scan, his mind ran over possible scenarios. Whoever was behind this obviously knew something about him. They knew he was the Executive Officer of the bank, that was clear in their request for the money. But this was something more, something almost personal.

Annaleesa was still at the spa, she'd gone there with two girlfriends and had stayed overnight in the resort rooms. She'd called him while he was in the car, she wasn't expected home until the evening. The email had arrived at 7am, which was before she'd called, so he knew she was safe at least.

The computer chirped, signaling that the file was safe to open. He clicked on it.

It was a man, stripped of his shirt and restrained, strapped down to a wooden chair in an otherwise completely ordinary room. The only thing that really hit him was the blood, the volume of it caked over the man's arm and pooled on the floor around the chair.

Rather than hunt for his reading glasses, he magnified the picture, zooming in on the man as he searched for the significance of the photo.

The man's head was limp, hanging back against the chair as if baring his neck to the world. His mouth was pink and bloody and Anthony DiNozzo had no trouble imagining he'd recently been beaten. He clicked the zoom in button again, scrolling up to the man's eyes.

It hit him suddenly and he gripped the arms of his chair, hard. Those eyes. He could never forget them. He'd only ever met two people with eyes as vibrantly green and passionate as the ones staring out of the photograph.

One person was his wife. His first wife, not any of the 5 replacements he'd had since. She died many years ago, leaving him with a crater in his heart that no amount of scotch would fill.

The other person was his son. A boy, no, a man now, a man he hadn't spoken to, much less seen, for more than fifteen years.

Feeling a sudden tightness in his chest, Anthony DiNozzo zoomed out so he could see the man's face in it's entirety. He could see it now. His son had the same face, the same nose and expressive eyes and cheekbones he'd had as a noisy little boy growing up. Behind the caked blood, even with the grainy resolution, he could recognize it.

Rubbing at the tension gathering in his chest, he pressed the button for the intercom, telling Denise that he wouldn't be attending the 9:00 meeting. He cut her off, ignoring the half-asked question on the other end of the wire, and picked up his phone, dialing the number to reach the operator.

He'd done his best to keep tabs on his son over the years, tracing his path from Peoria to Philadelphia to Baltimore and then to Washington DC. The ramifications of contacting the authorities rang loudly through his brain, but Anthony DiNozzo had learnt some things through a lifetime of work in finance. Sometimes you had to trust others, and as much as it went against everything ingrained in him, he knew it was true in this case. His son had broken his two-year employment record, had finally found a place to call home after so many years. He'd had his people look into it, and he could understand why. Anthony DiNozzo Junior had people he could trust now. And now Anthony DiNozzo Senior was going to have to trust them too. Trust them with his son's life.

The operator responded, shaking him out of his thoughts.

"Connect me to NCIS, Washington DC. I need to speak to Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

----------------------------

_A/N:I guess email addresses don't work on this website. Ah well. There'll be more Tony next chapter, I promise. Thanks for reading, and to the awesome reviewers. Based on your responses, nobody was expecting Daddy DiNozzo to appear. That's good, I like to keep you guessing :) Hopefully this chapter's sparked a few more questions. All will be revealed... in a few days :) Let me know what you think._


	7. Chapter 7

Gibbs dropped the phone back onto his desk and stared at it for a moment, before straightening up into his usual stance.

"Ziva! What have you got on the New Americans?"

"Who was on the phone?" She asked, curiosity getting the better of her. She'd been watching him out of the corner of her eye, but a glare from Gibbs snapped her back into work-mode.

"The New Americans definitely have a partner, or partners. They do the leg work; packaging and distribution of the drugs. From what I have found, the partners take care of finance and shipping, bringing the drugs into the country."

"Give me a name."

"Still working on it, Gibbs. I believe it is somebody associated with a bank; access to the money, no questions asked."

"Okay. I need a name." Gibbs was willing to cut her a break; they were all operating on caffeine and next to no sleep. "And get me everything you can find on Anthony DiNozzo Senior."

Ziva's head shot up. She hadn't been expecting that.

"Tony's father? What do you need to know?"

Gibbs scrutinized her for a second before remembering that she'd collated a dossier on every member of his team; she already had the information he needed without having to research it.

"Everything. Starting with his job."

Ziva nodded.

"Anthony DiNozzo is the president of the Columbus Bank on Long Island. Until three years ago, he served as vice-president, but his older brother, Alfio was jailed for tax evasion, larceny and blackmail, among other charges."

"I don't remember hearing about that," Gibbs said, one eyebrow raised. Tony rarely talked about his family, so the fact that his father was the head of a bank was news to him. He'd known Tony came from money, but he'd never imagined just how much. His uncle, however, surprised Gibbs even more. It was fair enough that Tony wouldn't speak about an uncle in jail, considering how tight-lipped he was about some aspects of his personal life, but the president of a large bank being jailed was something that would surely make the headlines.

"Money goes a long way in keeping people quiet," Ziva said knowingly.

Gibbs nodded. "Find me the partner."

-------------------------------------

"Gibbs! Gibbs! Gibbs!"

"Got my trace yet Abs?" Gibbs asked, standing behind Abby and McGee.

"Of course I do. Getting a location as we speak." She grinned back at him. "In three… two… one…"

The computer beeped, right on cue.

"Got it! The email was sent from Virginia. According to the schematics…" she typed rapidly. "… it's a two-storey, three bedroom house. I'll send the address to McGee's PDA."

"Thanks Abs," Gibbs said, leaving with McGee. Abby smiled to herself and span around on her chair, then gasped in delight. Lined up in a row on the desk behind her were three icy cold Caff-Pows.

-------------------------------------

McGee breathed an audible sigh of relief as the car came to a halt a block down from the address Abby'd sent them. Gibbs, not wanting a repeat of last time, had arranged for Agent Balboa and his team to come to the location as well. Although with the way Gibbs had been driving, McGee thought, Balboa and his people would probably be too late anyway. They'd brought Agent Lee along in the same car, allowing the team to split up into two groups of two. Nobody was slipping out the backdoor this time.

Armed and strapped into his vest, McGee moved into formation as they hustled toward the house. It was plain white with a blue trim, looking thoroughly ordinary in the neighbourhood of similar houses.

Gibbs and McGee took the front door, with Ziva and Lee going around to the back door. Simultaneously, they stormed in, clearing the house with almost disappointing ease. It was empty; completely empty. Gibbs sighed internally with frustration. It'd been too much to hope that Tony's captors would be dumb enough to lead them straight to Tony, but he'd seen dumber. Now they were back to square one, with no leads on Tony's whereabouts.

"Boss, there's some blood in here," McGee called out.

Gibbs followed his voice and found McGee standing in the centre of the room he recognized from the photo.

"Tony was here," he muttered softly. "McGee, get me blood samples for Abby."

McGee nodded and got to work. "The blood looks pretty fresh; I'm not sure but I'd say it's recent."

"How recent?"

"Less than a day?" McGee guessed.

"The blood trail leads to the front door and down to the driveway," Ziva reported, re-entering the house. "I found no drag marks or unusual footprints, so it seems they carried Tony to the vehicle."

"Can you get a tread print?" Gibbs asked. Ziva shook her head.

"It is a gravel driveway; the tyres do not leave a lasting impression on the rocks."

"So what do we do now, Agent Gibbs?" Lee asked.

Gibbs stared into the room which once housed his Senior Field Agent.

"Now… we wait for them to make contact again."

-----------------------------------------

_Two hours earlier_

Tony came to as he was shaken roughly from the chair he'd called home for many, many hours. His first emotion was relief; relief at being released from the coarse ropes that had been cutting off the circulation in his arms. And then confusion – why were they cutting him free?

He only had a few seconds to ponder his predicament when large hands grasped him at the elbows, yanking him up.

"Wha-?" He gasped.

The person came around the front, and he realized it was Henry.

"Stand up!" Henry ordered. Tony tried, but spending almost 24 hours tied up in the same position and injured had left him weak and shaky. He collapsed as soon as Henry released his arms.

"Jesus," Henry muttered, bending over and hoisting the limp agent over his shoulder.

"Where we going?" Tony slurred, unable to move as the blood rushed to his head.

Henry ignored him and kept walking. Tony was jostled on his shoulder, and managed to figure out that Henry was going down some stairs. A few moments later, he was dropped heavily onto something solid. Dizzy, Tony squinted and realized that he was in the back of the van they'd used to transport him here. Before he could resist, Henry was leaning over him, wrapping a thick, dark piece of cloth around his eyes, blocking his vision.

"No gag…" He whispered, and Henry chuckled.

"Stay quiet and we won't. Make a sound… and I'll shove the rag so far down your throat you won't be able to breathe, let alone speak."

Tony nodded blindly, then listened as Henry slid the side-door shut. The engine started, and he heard Jacob's voice join Henry's in the front seat.

"Let's get out of here."

The noises of the vehicle blocked out the rest of their speech, and it took more energy than Tony cared for to listen to them. He focused on himself, trying to figure out how he could contact Gibbs. Henry had dropped him face-forward, and he was lying on his stomach, arms tucked under his body. It was a few minutes before Tony realized that his was a _really_ painful position, every pothole sending a jolt of fire through his injured arm.

With a great deal of effort, he maneuvered himself over onto his back, then pulled himself up into a sitting position, leaning against the wall of the van. His hands were free, which was a good thing, although his injured arm protested at the mere thought of being moved. Hugging that arm to his body, he reached up, running his fingers over his face. His lips were cracked and swollen; he could still taste coppery blood in his mouth. Even without the blindfold, he'd had trouble opening his eyes, so he knew that they were both bruised and almost swollen shut, thanks to Henry and his enthusiastic fists. It was pointless to remove the blindfold even though he could; not only would it anger his captors, he could hardly see anyway.

He'd stopped shivering, which he hoped was a good thing. He just felt hot now, beads of sweat gathered on his forehead above the line of the blindfold. He had no doubt that his GSW was infected; if it hadn't been before, it definitely was now after spending all night in that dusty old room.

Injuries assessed, Tony turned his thoughts to his father. After the pain involved in giving Jacob and Henry his email address, and Abby's so they could contact NCIS, when they'd asked him for his father's email address, it became less a question of morals and more a question of how much he liked his teeth the way they were. He hadn't spoken to his father since before he finished college, but his father's secretary made a habit of emailing him regularly with details so he could contact his father, if he so chose. Tony, of course, chose not to; he had no desire to speak to his father, but he was glad he'd saved the email. That then begged the question of how his father's secretary knew his personal email address – he'd only created it since coming to work for NCIS. That was something he tried not to think about too much. The DiNozzo family was considerably powerful; if they wanted something, there was little to stop them from having it.

Jacob and Henry knew something about his father, and since his father was a banker, he was pretty confident that they were going to blackmail him. What his father had to do with them was beyond Tony's field of comprehension. He could only guess that his father had somehow become involved with their organization.

As much as he disliked his father, associating him with terrorists was a very different thing. He had no trouble imaging a connection between the _family_ and the terrorists; Uncle Alfio especially, but not his father.

It couldn't be. He wasn't prepared to accept something like that.

The van turned sharply, sliding him across the floor and bringing him back to the present. He was about to ask where they were going again, when he remembered Henry's no-talking policy. Maybe it was better just to co-operate, for the moment at least.

He knew Gibbs would find him. Eventually.

----------------------------------------

_A/N: __I'm an Aussie, so I just made up the name of the bank. Then I googled it, and it turns out there's a real bank with the same name. I hope they don't sue me._

_Thanks for reading, and especially to the awesome people who reviewed. Sorry for the delay, this chapter did not want to be written. Hopefully it doesn't suck as much as I think it does. More to come!_


	8. Chapter 8

There was a man sitting at Tony's desk when Ziva and McGee returned from the crime scene. Ziva recognized him. McGee did not, but both agents regarded him with suspicion.

"Who are you?" McGee asked.

The man looked momentarily surprised, but recovered quickly, standing and extending a hand to McGee.

"Anthony DiNozzo. And you are?"

"Special Agent Timothy McGee. You're Tony's dad?" As the words left McGee's mouth, it became obvious. Anthony DiNozzo shared Tony's height and his mouth, but not his eyes. His were a sparkling grey, and his skin was slightly darker than Tony's.

Anthony frowned, looking from McGee to Ziva.

"Where's Agent Gibbs?"

"Coffee," Ziva answered crisply. "Why are you here?"

Again, Anthony looked surprised. "Gibbs didn't tell you?"

"He doesn't… talk to us much," McGee admitted.

Anthony sat back down at Tony's desk, fingers returning to the keyboard he'd been typing on.

"I'm here because of this," he told them, pointing to the computer screen. McGee grabbed the remote, pulling the email up onto the plasma. Both read it, faces registering shock and disgust at the words.

"They are blackmailing you. Why?" Ziva asked.

Anthony sighed. "My brother."

"Alfio, yes?"

Anthony glanced up at Ziva and nodded. "He was involved in some… under-the-table dealings, I'm afraid. After his conviction, these people made contact with me, hoping to continue the arrangement."

"What arrangement?" McGee interrupted.

"My brother was using money from the family bank to fund their organization. He was the president and had final approval on the financials, so he was able to successfully manipulate them to cover his actions."

"The IRS does not know about this?" This was news to Ziva; embezzlement and treason had not been among the many charges Alfio DiNozzo had faced.

"No, they never found out. After the FBI arrested my brother, they left us alone," Anthony said. "When I took over, I cut off the organization's funding, and they went to a rival bank."

"You did not think it prudent to alert appropriate authorities?"

Anthony stood up and gave Ziva a glare to rival Gibbs'.

"I am a business man, and in my business, everything relies on reputation. The family name was sullied enough thanks to the man I'm ashamed to acknowledge as my brother. It was hard enough to keep that out of the papers; we would lose every one of our clients if anybody found out about these… terrorist connections."

"What is more important: your son or your _reputation_," Ziva snarled.

"Why do you think I'm here, lady?" Anthony snapped. McGee watched as Ziva stiffened and hoped there were no sharp objects within her reach. She really did not like being called 'lady'. "He's my son! I'm not going to let him die!"

"I suppose that would be bad for business, yes? Your only son killed by terrorists because you failed to pay the ransom?" Ziva sat back down, fiery eyes burning into the man in front of her.

"I don't have to deal with this. I don't know what Tony's told you about me, but I love him. I'm not going to let some terrorists with a vendetta and empty pockets kill him if I can help it."

"Actually," Ziva replied, "Tony never mentions you."

She smiled dangerously at him, then turned back to her computer.

"Jesus," Anthony muttered incredulously with a shake of the head. "Where the hell is Gibbs?"

"Right here."

Anthony DiNozzo let out an undignified squawk as he looked up into the spot which had been unoccupied a moment ago to see Leroy Jethro Gibbs standing before him. Composing himself, Anthony stood up, utilizing every bit of his height to stand over Gibbs. The corner of Gibbs' lip twitched, and he drained his coffee cup, tossing it across Tony's desk and into his bin.

Anthony was used to several things. He was used to intimidating people with a single glance. He was used to being respected. And he was used to being obeyed. Gibbs was a man who defied all three. Watching the man carefully, Anthony sat down at his son's desk again. So this was the man who'd finally managed to break Tony's job-jumping habit. He was one of the few people he'd met who seemed the same in-person as he did on the phone.

His conversation with Gibbs had been terse and short. He had outlined his problem; namely being that his son was being held hostage and the captors were demanding a five million dollar ransom. Gibbs had listened, then told him not to speak to anyone else about it, and to get to DC. Then he'd hung up.

Another first. _Nobody_ hung up on Anthony DiNozzo.

He cleared his throat.

"Agent Gibbs, our conversation led me to believe you have a plan?"

Gibbs nodded. "Sure."

"Well, what is it?"

Gibbs' eyes met those of Tony's father, and Anthony DiNozzo Senior began to realize just why his son had settled down to work for this man. Gibbs was stubborn, authoritative, cantankerous and, for lack of a better word, a bastard. But even by looking at him, Anthony knew the man was loyal and would do whatever it took to get his son back. Not to mention his uncanny ability to piss people off without saying a word.

"We wait for them to contact you again. They'll arrange a meet. We'll go with you, kill the bastards and get Tony back. Simple."

Anthony stuttered as he tried to form a reply to that.

"Okay…"

As Gibbs took his place at his desk, all eyes turned to Tony's computer, waiting for the 'beep!' that signaled the arrival of an email. The New Americans, however, seemed to have a different definition of the word 'soon'.

What followed was a tense two-and-a-half hour wait. McGee, imitating Tony's act of 'meditation', perched with his feet on the edge of his desk. Ziva fashioned some disturbingly deadly looking weapons out of the colourful paperclips she found in her drawer. Gibbs drank more coffee and flipped through some files, but he was as distracted as the rest of his team.

It was almost a relief when the computer chirped softly. To the occupants of the almost-silent squad room, the noise was practically deafening. McGee jolted up, swinging his feet off the desk in what would've been a fluid movement, until his shoelace caught on the handle of his drawer, pulling it and its contents to the ground. Ziva slammed her fist down, scattering the pyramid of paperclip ninjas she'd been building. Gibbs simply snapped shut the file in his hand and stood up. Anthony, for his part, clicked on the unopened email with a great deal of trepidation.

Two lines of text. The only reward for their computer-side vigil.

_Atlantic Warehouse 2381 , two hours time._

_Come alone with the money or don't come at all._

"McGee," Gibbs started.

"Address, on it boss."

"Ziva?"

"Building schematics and organize a tactical team," she answered promptly.

Gibbs nodded and turned to Anthony.

"You – call your bank, get the money. I don't care how you do it, just have it ready."

"No need to involve them, Agent Gibbs," Anthony replied.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"I make a habit of keeping money available. I keep a safety deposit box at a bank here. It should contain sufficient funds."

Gibbs stared at the man in silence until McGee spoke the words he'd been thinking.

"You keep five million dollars, in cash, in a safety deposit box?"

Anthony DiNozzo nodded cooly. "As I said, it pays to be prepared. Certainly in this case. Your organization would struggle to provide five million US in cash on such short notice, not to mention the questions that it would provoke. Co-operation with terrorists et cetera. My bank too would ask questions, risking exposure, and I do believe the FBI and CIA monitor banks for unusual transactions, which makes withdrawing the sum impossible."

"Fine," Gibbs said. "Ziva, escort Mr DiNozzo to his bank. Hang back a bit in case they're watching him."

Ziva nodded and the two of them left.

"Nice, boss," McGee smiled once they were gone.

"What?"

"Subjecting him to Ziva's driving. There's a punishment if I ever saw one."

With a smile, Gibbs had to agree.

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_A/N: I know, no Tony! I'd be appalled too, but I promise there'll be plenty of him in chapter nine, which hopefully will be up soon :) Thanks for the reviews; you guys are so good for my ego. Several people contacted me, having trouble getting all of chapter five to load. I reuploaded the chapter, so fingers crossed it will work now. If not, let me know. _

_I start university on Monday, and I'm moving down on Friday, so I'm writing like a maniac trying to get this story finished before then, because otherwise I have no idea how long it could be between updates, and I don't want to do that to you guys. I know how annoying that can be. Hopefully I can get this done, and updates will be pretty frequent over the next few days, but I can't promise anything. Anyway, thanks for your continued viewing, hope you're still enjoying :)_


	9. Chapter 9

In the back of the van, Tony tried to keep track of the twists and turns the van was making, until he realized it was pointless. He had no idea where the house that they'd kept him in overnight was, and there was no way he'd ever willingly go back there. Instead he concentrated on listening, trying to hear anything over the roar of the engine that could clue him into his whereabouts.

In the dark, he had no idea how long they'd been in motion, but at a guess, he figured it was less than an hour. His butt was only a little bit numb from sitting on the floor. As abruptly as the journey had begun, it ended. The car made a sharp turn to the right, and Tony winced as he was bumped back into the side of the van. Still blindfolded, he heard and felt the movement as the side door was slid back. Hands gripped him around the wrists, pulling him forward and eliminating any chance he could possibly have of escaping.

Not that he had the energy to outrun a guy like Henry anyway.

Still shaky, he was practically dragged forward. He felt shade fall over him, correctly guessing that they were entering a building of some sort. The hands dragged him further in, then he felt the solid wood of a chair being pushed behind him. The hands released his wrists, moving instead to his shoulders, shoving him back into the chair.

He bit down on a cry as his wrists were pulled behind his back again, tight, remembering the earlier threat of a gag. He was getting really sick of this position. The hands left for a minute, then returned. One went to his hair, yanking his head back, while the other slapped tape across his mouth.

Grateful he could breathe through his semi-blocked nose without too much difficulty, Tony considered what would happen if he needed to sneeze again. His lips were sealed shut with the thick tape. It wouldn't be pleasant, that he knew for sure. He groaned softly as he felt the tell-tale tickle within his nose. Served him right for thinking about sneezing, he supposed.

Concentrating solely on fighting back the sneeze, Tony's mind jumped to an afternoon in Autopsy, many months ago, when Ducky had digressed from his report of a Petty Officer's COD to explain the dangers of stopping a sternutation.

"_Come again?" Tony frowned._

"_A sneeze, of course," Ducky exclaimed with a wave of bloody-glove-clad hands. "Did you know that a sneeze ejects air from the body at speeds of up to 100 miles per hour? I remember this one fellow in England; I do believe it was in my days as a medical student. Poor fellow tried to hold a sneeze in during the middle of an examination, he didn't want to disturb his classmates. Should've known better, of course. Ruptured a blood vessel in his head. Then he disturbed the class!" _

_Ducky chuckled merrily at what was not exactly a pleasant memory._

"_Duck," Gibbs interrupted. "What's this got to do with the case?"_

"_Jethro, I was merely speculating on the layer of mucus I found lining his lungs. Here, take a look."_

_Not waiting for a reply, Ducky picked up a large knife, neatly slicing open the Petty Officer's right lung. _

_Tony grimaced and took a step back._

"_Ducky, is it true you can break a rib sneezing?" He asked, thinking quickly to distract the medical examiner from further dissecting the body in front of him._

_Ducky nodded eagerly. "Indeed. In fact, I do remember a young lady I met on my travels. Tiny thing, but she had lungs to rival Gibbs, I believe…"_

That was all he could remember of that conversation, but he could fairly safely assume that Ducky'd rambled on and he'd tuned out. There'd probably been a head-slap from Gibbs somewhere in there as well.

All interesting, but it presented him with a new problem. Sneezing with duct-tape over his mouth would not be nice, and the jolt would make his arm hurt again. He wondered what was more painful; a bullet through the arm or a ruptured blood vessel. Ducky would know, although Tony wasn't sure if he wanted to ask him. Assuming he ever had the chance to.

Tony shook his head viciously; it was the closest he could come to Gibbs-slapping himself. And if Gibbs had been there, he definitely would've head-slapped him for even thinking anything like that.

They were his family; Gibbs, Abby, McGee, Ducky and Ziva. He had his doubts that his father would even respond to whatever threat his captors had sent. But with Gibbs, there was no question. The team was more of a family to him than his biological one had ever been. At NCIS, he felt welcome, loved, appreciated. Even when he screwed up, Gibbs never made him feel like a failure. There was punishment, sure, but only when he deserved it. Forgiveness came easily. He felt cared for, for the first time in his life. Wanted. It wasn't something he'd give up willingly.

Deep down, he knew Gibbs would come. Dead or alive, Gibbs would come for him. He hoped for the latter; his captors wanted to trade him for a ransom and he was no good dead. But blindfolded, gagged, tied to a chair and feeling utterly vulnerable and miserable, it was a little too easy to give up hope.

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Less than an hour after they'd left, Ziva and Anthony DiNozzo Snr returned to the NCIS building, a simple black leather briefcase in their possession.

Gibbs nodded, acknowledging their return as they stepped out of the elevators. He noted with just a hint of smugness the green tinge to the other man's face. _Maybe now you'll start to realize that your son is more important than any business._

Huffing slightly, Anthony took his place at his son's desk, shooting wary glances across to Ziva. She smirked, crossed her arms and walked towards the television Gibbs and McGee were standing in front of.

"Are we ready?"

Gibbs raised an eyebrow in reply, and she nodded. It was a question that did not require an answer. McGee provided one anyway.

"Yes; four teams are prepped to go, we've got satellite surveillance and building schematics. All that's left is the cash, just in case they decide to check. And you've got that."

"Okay." Taking the A3 diagram from McGee's hand, Ziva flattened it out on Gibbs' desk as she examined it. The address the email had listed was to a warehouse in an industrial suburb of Virginia. The whole situation was eerily familiar, the design of the warehouse was almost identical to the one they had visited more than 24 hours ago.

Anticipating her next question, McGee passed her another two sheets of paper.

"I checked with the local council; the warehouse is owned by a company and leased out. I phoned the company; they perform checks of the warehouses every month. Last check was a week ago, no reports of any suspicious behaviour and definitely no building modifications. The warehouse is open-plan; no separate rooms and nowhere for them to hide."

Gibbs cut in. "McGee, did you-"

"Got the name of the person who took out the lease on the warehouse from the Company office. They faxed the details over, Agent Lee's checking into it."

Gibbs was honestly impressed; something that rarely happened.

"Good work Tim."

McGee flushed at the praise, but there was still something on his mind.

"Boss, all of this, it just seems too simple. Do they really expect Tony's dad to just waltz in and hand over the money, no questions asked? I mean, I know how you feel about coincidences, but there is no way that they planned all of this. They couldn't have known that we were going to raid the warehouse, let alone that Tony would stay out by the car. This whole thing, the blackmail, it wasn't planned, was it?"

Gibbs stared at him for a moment. "You do know how I feel about coincidences McGee." He paused, and McGee wondered if he'd finished speaking.

"… but I am also able to accept that sometimes, strange things happen. You're right, it wasn't planned. They got lucky. They took a hostage on a whim, and that hostage happened to have family connections, and a lot of money. They got greedy, changed their plans."

McGee nodded, understanding. "Okay."

Gibbs patted him once on the shoulder, then turned to the television screen. Ziva had pulled up and enlarged the building schematics, and was staring at them intently.

"What are you thinking?" Gibbs asked, trusting her instincts.

With a finger, Ziva pointed out four separate entry points to the warehouse that would allow NCIS teams access to the building from all four sides.

"We post a sniper here," she pointed to the mostly-empty building across the road from the warehouse. "And once the teams enter the warehouse and secure Tony and his father, we block off these exits."

Gibbs nodded in agreement. "Okay. Let's do it. Time to go. We have one hour before the meet is set to go ahead. Abby will fix up the radios, and then we'll move into position," he announced to his team as well as the other three NCIS teams had arrived in the squad room.

As the agents began to move off, Gibbs found Anthony DiNozzo, still seated at Tony's desk, and tossed him a set of car keys.

"Sedan," he told him. "Since I'm guessing you took a cab here."

"I thought I would just drive my son's car." Anthony replied.

"Oh, no." Ziva and McGee reacted instantly, both spinning around and looking shocked at the mere prospect.

"Nobody drives Tony's car," McGee explained. "Nobody."

"Especially not to a meet with a heavily armed militia group who are holding your son hostage," Ziva added. "He complains every time a leaf touches the car, imagine what he would do if it acquired a bullet hole!"

Her eyes met McGee's, and they both cringed, picturing all too clearly what Tony's response would be.

"You're right," Anthony muttered, climbing to his feet. Gibbs had a feeling that wasn't a phrase he uttered very frequently.

In a rare display of patience, Gibbs waited for McGee to arm himself before storming towards the elevator.

The doors slid open just as he pressed the down button. The face that stared out from within was not a welcome one.

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_A/N: Wow, thanks for the fast response! You guys rock. It was a pretty pointless flashback in this chapter, I know. But who can really make sense of what goes on inside Tony's head? All the action's coming next chapter. In the meantime... review:)_


	10. Chapter 10

"Fornell." Gibbs growled. "You're in my way."

"Actually, Gibbs, I think you'll find that you're in my way. We need to talk," Fornell replied.

"Later, Tobias. I don't have the time."

"Oh, I think you do."

Gibbs glared at the FBI agent, and with one finger prodded him to the back of the elevator. The rest of the team hesitated, expecting the two lead agents to want some privacy for their meeting, but Gibbs crooked his finger, so they piled in after them.

"This case falls into FBI jurisdiction Gibbs. DiNutzo's a civilian, not to mention his family's prior dealings with the FBI." Fornell began as the elevator slid downwards.

"Tony's been missing for more than 24 hours, Tobias." Gibbs replied. "We've been running this case the whole time, and we do not need your help."

"I'm hurt, Gibbs. There I was thinking we could co-operate, help each other out."

Gibbs frowned at Fornell. "Everytime the FBI sticks its nose into my business, the whole thing goes to hell."

"Don't make me take this to the Director," Fornell warned.

Gibbs wrinkled his nose. "Fine. But you and your men stay out of the way until we get Tony back. Then they're all yours."

"We get credit?"

"Yeah," Gibbs agreed with a weary sigh. He didn't give a damn what happened to the people who took Tony, as long as he got his senior field agent back.

The elevator arrived at the garage, and Gibbs and Fornell pushed their way out, both satisfied with the arrangement.

"Call me when you've got them," Fornell called back as he walked to his car. "I'll send someone to pick 'em up."

---------------------------------

The teams were in position, surveillance equipment was set up and snipers were trained on each of the four entrances to the warehouse. All that was missing was Anthony DiNozzo Senior.

He was waiting a few miles back as the NCIS agents got themselves set-up. Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, Anthony tried to imagine what was waiting for him ahead.

He was reluctant to trust any federal agency, especially in light of the charges brought up against his brother, but he had no choice. He had to trust Agent Gibbs to get his son back, and hopefully keep the family out of trouble in the process. It wouldn't be so simple though. Based on Gibbs' plan, they would storm the warehouse as soon as he entered, capturing the New Americans' attention. Momentarily distracted, NCIS would subdue the captors and get he and Tony out of there. There was one problem with that plan.

Gibbs had ordered his men to shoot to wound, not to kill. The FBI would get custody, and the men would sing like birds to cut a deal, he knew. That would no doubt include the family's involvement with the group. The FBI couldn't be trusted to keep that information quiet; they had more leaks than a sieve. The media, the public, everyone would find out, and he'd lose all of his customers. He couldn't let that happen.

Reaching across the console to the passenger seat, he opened the black briefcase and pulled out the knife he'd taken from his safety deposit box while Ziva was distracting the bank attendant. He stared at the serrated blade for a minute, then opened his jacket, sliding the knife into his tie. It looked slightly bulkier than usual, but with his jacket buttoned, nobody would be able to tell he was carrying it. He knew from experience that the New Americans would pat him down, it was one of the reasons they'd decided not to put a wire on him, but they would only check his sides, not his front.

The hand-held radio they'd given him crackled, and he clicked the briefcase shut as he heard Gibbs' voice.

"DiNozzo? Let's do this."

"Copy that," he replied, starting the engine. It was show time.

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Gibbs set down the radio, picking up his binoculars and scanning the entrance of the warehouse. His team; Ziva, McGee and Lee, were stationed in the warehouse next door. They'd commandeered it from a company of Asian importers, who'd willingly let them in once they heard that their neighbours of sorts were really drug dealers.

A few minutes later, he spotted the blue unmarked sedan gliding down the road towards them.

"DiNozzo's here," he announced softly to his team. They nodded, holding their weapons closer to their bodies as they gathered around the door, ready to go.

The car pulled up and Anthony DiNozzo climbed out, carefully smoothing down his jacket before going to the other side of the car and taking out the briefcase. McGee, directing the laser microphone on the warehouse, turned up the volume.

"Name?" A gruff voice called out.

"Anthony DiNozzo."

"Did you bring the money?"

"Five million, cash, as requested."

Listening, they heard the shifting of a bolt and the squeak of hinges as a door was swung back.

"He's in," an agent manning the front of the building confirmed via radio.

"Where's my son?" Anthony asked.

"Money first."

In the warehouse next door, hearing the exchange, three pairs of eyes turned to their leader. Gibbs shook his head, and they nodded in understanding. They had to wait until they knew Tony was there. Anthony would give them the signal, then they'd storm the place.

"Five million. Unmarked bills. It's what you asked for. Now where's my son?"

The other man sighed. "Get the lights!"

"Why is he so far away? I'm an old man, I can't see all the way back to the far corner." Anthony's voice. Gibbs smiled; he'd just told them Tony's location. Now all they had to do was wait for the signal.

It was the waiting that got to Gibbs. That, and having to trust a man he barely knew. There were very few people that Gibbs considered to be members of his circle of trust. His team; Tony, Ziva and McGee, definitely. Ditto for Abby, Ducky, and even Palmer. There was Jenny, Tom Morrow and Fornell to a certain degree. That was it. Gibbs didn't trust easily, his trust needed to be earned. But in this situation, his hand was forced. He had no choice but to hope that Anthony DiNozzo Senior knew what he was doing.

"Let me talk to my son." Anthony's voice again.

"What? You can see him, what more do you want? We'll check the money; all of the money, and then we'll release him."

"I told you, I can barely see him. I don't have my glasses on. It could be a sack of potatoes on a chair for all I know. I need to hear his voice."

The other man seemed to be considering this, for he took a moment to reply.

"Fine. Bring him over."

They heard footsteps, some seeming to drag more than others.

"Son?"

Gibbs could hear a tearing sound, imagining all too vividly a piece of duct tape being ripped back from Tony's mouth.

"Fuck."

That was a new voice. One Gibbs knew very, very well. It was a lot rougher than he remembered, even with a cold, but it was definitively, undeniably Tony. Gibbs smirked. Tony always did have a potty mouth. Beside him, identical smiles were spread across the faces of McGee, Ziva and Lee.

"Dad?"

"Son, I'm here. I love you."

Gibbs stood up. I love you. That was the signal to go. Anthony had been the one to suggest it, much to the surprise of Gibbs. Perhaps it was his way of proving, out loud, that he really did care for his son. Gibbs didn't give a damn. It was time to get Tony back.

"All teams, we are a go," Gibbs announced through the radio. Clipping it back onto his belt, Gibbs kicked the door open, knowing his team was right behind him. Sprinting, they crossed the gap between the warehouses in a matter of seconds, lining themselves up along the wall on the left-hand side of the warehouse.

"In position."

"In position."

"In position."

"Copy that." Receiving transmissions from all three of the other teams, Gibbs nodded to his own. They were ready. "In three… two…"

As Gibbs spoke into the radio, Ziva moved in front of him, raising her boot to the door.

"….one."

Simultaneously, teams burst through the door on all four sides. They were instantly met with gunfire, and they took cover. Crouching behind a stocked pallet, Gibbs didn't have time to be surprised, quickly assessing the situation. They'd been trying to take the hostiles by surprise, using that to their advantage to subdue them with minimum force. But something had happened in the ten seconds between Gibbs leaving the warehouse next door and crossing to this one. Something had tipped them off, all elements of surprise thrown out the window.

It would be a bloody battle.

----------------------------------

Handing the briefcase over to the balaclava-clad man, Anthony tried to keep his voice from quavering. He was a business man, not a hired gun. This was precisely why he'd tried to force his son to follow in his footsteps; to keep him from getting himself into situations like this. The beefy man who'd patted him down hadn't seemed to notice the ultra-thin Kevlar he was wearing under his clothing. He certainly hadn't noticed the knife shoved up his tie.

He was relieved when they switched the lights on, at least now he could see what he was dealing with. There were at least ten men, all wearing balaclavas and all armed with semi-automatics. Following the man's finger, he spotted a man tied down to a chair in the corner.

"I told you, I can barely see him. I don't have my glasses on. It could be a sack of potatoes on a chair for all I know. I need to hear his voice." A lie, of course. His vision was fine. More than fine actually; Tony inherited his 20:10 vision from his father. But he needed to actually speak to his son, pass on the message to Gibbs who he knew was listening in through a laser-microphone. However that worked. The younger agent, Mackey, or whatever his name was, had tried explaining it to him earlier, but nothing had stuck. Anthony could use a computer; it was essential in his line of work, but beyond that and a Blackberry, he had no desire nor any need to know anything about technology.

"Fine. Bring him over."

He watched as two of the men approached Tony, cutting the rope binding him to the chair and yanking him to his feet. He didn't miss the muffled sound of pain or the way the men were pretty much holding Tony vertical as they brought him closer.

"Son?"

The two men came to a stop a few feet in front of him, one on either side of Tony. Tony was blindfolded, and one of the men reached over, tearing the silver duct tape from his mouth.

"Fuck." Tony scowled, an expression of pain briefly flashing across his face.

"Dad?" The pain was replaced with surprise.

"Son, I'm here. I love you."

There it was, Gibbs' signal. In any other circumstances, he would've felt hurt as Tony's look of surprise lingered. Had his son really not expected him to help? What, did he think he would just leave his only son to die? But Anthony had other things on his mind. All of them involving the knife under his jacket.

Tony provided the distraction he was looking for, doubling over as a cough racked his body. The two armed men were forced to hang onto him tighter to keep Tony from falling, and in that moment, Anthony reached into his jacket, sliding the knife out of his tie.

It seemed to happen in slow-motion. Pulling out the blade, Anthony lunged, stabbing it into the right-hand-side goon's chest. As the man cried out, the other nine men turned, instantly vigilant. At the exact same moment, the doors on all four sides of the warehouse burst open as NCIS agents flooded in.

The New Americans fired on them, causing the agents to scatter in search of cover. With bullets flying around him, the last thing Anthony registered was the sight of the little Israeli woman scuttling towards his son, before he became aware of the burning pain in his chest and fell to the floor.

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_A/N: One chapter to go. I'll post it tomorrow. Thanks for your reviews, guys. I really love hearing your thoughts on each chapter :). And kudos to _**Loozy **_for correctly guessing it was Fornell. Happy Valentine's Day!!_


	11. Chapter 11

"You're awake," Gibbs stated as he walked through the door of the hospital room, a steaming cardboard cup in each hand.

"Really?" Tony replied, grinning cheesily.

Gibbs glared at him. If he had a free hand, he would've whacked his agent, injuries or no injuries.

"How are you feeling?"

Tony shrugged one shoulder. "Better than my dad?"

Gibbs frowned. "You've spoken to him?"

Tony nodded. "He got out of surgery a while ago. I spoke to him, but he didn't really speak back, pain meds and all. I've gotta say, the conversation was a lot calmer than the last conversation we had."

"Ducky let you go see him?" Gibbs nodded to the medical examiner snoring softly in the chair beside Tony's bed.

Tony shrugged again, wincing as he unwittingly bumped his arm.

"I can be pretty sneaky when I want to."

Gibbs snorted, setting one of the cups on the table beside Ducky. The aroma wafted towards his nostrils, and Ducky's eyes snapped open.

"How's he doing, Duck?" Gibbs asked. In the aftermath of the firefight, he'd had to stick around and supervise the clean-up, trusting Ziva and McGee to get Tony and his father to the hospital, where Ducky was waiting. The two agents were still out in the waiting room.

Ducky took a sip of tea, nodding his thanks to Gibbs. "It's not as bad as it looks, if that's what you mean."

Gibbs was relieved; Tony did look pretty bad. His face was pale, apart from the dark bruise on his cheekbone, the split lip and the small line of stitches above his right eye. The area around his mouth was still slightly pink from the duct tape. Tony's arm was strapped tightly to his chest, and an IV was inserted into his other arm.

"The doctor's greatest concern was the gunshot wound, which got infected. Not surprising, I must say, given the conditions." Ducky went on. "The IV antibiotics should take care of that in a matter of hours."

Gibbs smiled as Tony glared at the needle poking into his arm.

"I suspect he'll be quite sore for the next week or so, a lot of the bruising is mostly superficial, but there's some that's yet to appear on his ribs and collarbone. Provided the infection clears up and his temperature goes down, I see no reason why he can't go home as soon as tomorrow. Although perhaps not home in that sense of the word; he'll be needing someone to make sure he takes his meds and keeps the sling _on_."

The frown Ducky gave Tony as he finished the sentence led Gibbs to the conclusion that they'd already had more than one issue concerning the sling.

"He'll be staying with me," Gibbs decided, leaving no room for question or argument. "Thanks Duck."

"My pleasure. And thank you for the tea." Tucking the bedsheet in firmly around Tony, Ducky pointed a finger at him. "Behave, young man."

Ducky closed the door as he left, and Gibbs took the seat next to Tony's bed.

"You want to tell me what went on in there before we got there?"

Tony pursed his lips. "Didn't see much… probably because of the blindfold."

"Like that'd stop you from eavesdropping," Gibbs replied.

"I'm not really sure," Tony thought back. "I was kinda coughing myself silly at the time. But from what I figure, Dad attacked one of the guys holding me. Everybody went pretty crazy, and then you guys came in and sent the whole thing into overdrive."

"What? Why the hell would he do something like that? Crazy bastard, what was he thinking?" Gibbs exploded.

"Pretty simple, boss," Tony said, wincing as he sat up straighter in the bed. "He knew you'd ordered to shoot to wound. Get any one of those men in an interrogation room with you, hell, even Fornell, and they'd sell their grandma's soul to get out of doing jail time. They didn't tell me anything, but I've got a pretty strong feeling that the family's somehow involved with the terrorist scumbags. They'd blacken the good DiNozzo name, and Dad couldn't let that happen."

"So he just attacked them?"

"Yup. He's like you, he always carries a knife. Don't see why he really needs it working in an office all day, but I guess it really is a back-stabbing, cut-throat world. Anyway, bad guys got on the offensive, so when you all burst in, they were ready to fire back. Forced you to change your tactics; shooting to survive. Bet there were no survivors. Am I right?"

"Ten dead, none captured," Gibbs confirmed. "Sneaky bastard."

"Thus the DiNozzo legacy lives on," Tony said wryly. "I'm just surprised he was willing to risk his own life to keep this whole shebang quiet. Didn't know the family business meant so much to him."

_Didn't know he was willing to risk his son's life for his business_, Gibbs thought, thinking what Tony wasn't saying out loud. If the crafty old bastard didn't already have a round through his shoulder, Gibbs would've been tempted to go and put one there.

"Ahh-choo!"

Gibbs winced as Tony's whole body jolted.

"Ugh… gotta stop sneezing."

"Ziva told me that your family's doctors have already made arrangements to get your father transferred to a New York hospital." Gibbs handed him a tissue. "You should talk to him before he goes."

"I don't need to. I saw him before, I've made my peace." Tony said, staring down at the off-white sheet covering him.

"Doesn't count when they're unconscious, DiNozzo."

Tony cracked a smile and Gibbs counted that as a victory.

"I've got nothing to say to him. I think enough was said when I was eighteen. This whole thing hasn't really changed anything."

Gibbs nodded.

"Get some rest Tony. You're going to need a lot of energy for when Abby arrives. The Director's got her tied up running evidence on another team's case, and she is not happy."

Tony chuckled at that, clearly picturing the angry Goth slamming things around in the lab and playing music loud enough to shake the whole building.

"And DiNozzo?"

"Hmm?"

"Next time you're sick, just take the day off."

"Can't," Tony grinned. "Got a real bastard of a boss."

"You know, I'm writing an I-O-U of head-slaps. Gonna pay you back once you're back on your feet." Gibbs smirked, fingers itching.

Tony laughed again. "Something to look forward to."

Gibbs paused again. "Tony ... you did good."

"I didn't do anything, boss. Just sat on a chair for a really long time."

"You survived."

"I knew you were coming for me."

For once in his life, Gibbs was speechless, astounded by the pure faith the younger man had in him.

"You know I've always got your six." He finally managed.

"I know," Tony replied sleepily, his eyes half closed.

"Sleep, DiNozzo. That's an order."

Gibbs ruffled the hair of his senior field agent, then leant back in the chair, draining his coffee in one swallow.

"Yes boss," Tony murmured, drifting immediately off to sleep. 

_THEND._

* * *

_A/N: Whew! It's over! I hope you're satisfied with that ending; I don't think I left any questions unanswered, but then again, it's late, so I probably wouldn't know anyway. BIG thanks to everyone who was lovely enough to review, and to everyone who put this on alert, or even just read it all the way through. I really appreciate you sticking with me. Also, thanks to the sweet people for the well-wishes. You guys all rock my world. Stay happy and healthy everyone, and hopefully you'll be seeing more from me... at some stage in the future ;)_

_super em xo_


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